Oh What a Week!

(Sung to the tune of one of my all-time favourites: Oh What a Night! – loudly and tunelessly to the accompaniment of a huge glass bottle of end-of-week wine.)

Yesterday, for the first time since 21st December I was child-free – admittedly only for two hours, but all the same, two hours are two hours, and I wasn’t sniffing at them.

QueenBee walked into kinder in the morning, surveyed her new realm and, finding it acceptable, tried to dismiss me. She was most put out to discover that it was simply an orientation session and that she was there for just a brief visit. Only the promise of returning on Monday made it possible to drag her out while the teacher stood at the door, trying not to tap an impatient foot.

This morning my beautiful boy took himself off on his scooter and went off alone to embark on his final year of Primary School. We stood back-to-back at the beginning of January and I was still the taller. Now he has a centimeter on me. I think he will surpass his father’s 6’2” one day. He is not only growing up and up, he is (if possible) growing lovelier and lovelier. I can’t believe that with this short, squat female body of mine I have made a near-man. And what a gentle, wonderful near-man he is proving to be.

My Gothic Pre-teen started High School this morning. (Gee Primary School went by quickly!) She walked to school with two friends, QueenBee and me trailing redundantly after her. I gazed at the rear of her long, stick-insect form, quietly congratulating myself on the mastery of my amateur seamstry, having converted her size 12 dress to a size 10 with a hem somewhere between her ideal: mid-thigh; my ideal: above the knee; and the school’s: to the floor. (It’s above the knee.) She skipped into first assembly, delivering a peck on my cheek and then didn’t glance backwards.

A fellow mum who was near me said, ‘Should we go in and watch?’

‘Oh, okay,’ I agreed nonchalantly, ignoring the wild horses that were dragging me after my disappearing daughter.

The Vice-Head stopped us at the door, kindly, but firmly.

‘This is just for them,’ she said. ‘They need to do it alone.’

Really? Just like that?

I arrived to pick her up 35 minutes early, but she left without me. Spotting my bike at the school gate, she waited by it.

When I gave up lurking at the front door and arrived, hot and fed up, at the gate, she said, ‘What are you doing here? I can get home by myself.’

Umbilical cord snapped!

Very uncharacteristically I collapsed in front of the TV when we got back to watch Mamma Mia for the fourth time, in desperate need of soul comfort. Of course it worked.

The week of:

  • panel-beating the children in readiness for school/kinder (2x orthodontist appointments, a dentist’s appointment, new shoe-shopping [aka hell], and frantic head louse elimination before haircuts all round)
  • uniform shopping
  • sewing and mending
  • post-holiday laundry
  • cleaning the bombsite house in preparation for a visit from the cleaners
  • nursing the Platinum Siamese through an eye infection and a bad reaction to his FIV vaccination
  • a gazillion playdates, parties and sleep-overs (none of them mine)
  • Gothic Pre-teen’s wry neck incident after a night on a friend’s floor with a dicky pillow under a ceiling fan (she has a pain threshold of 10/10 and a firm conviction that if she’s feeling yukky, everyone around her should feel worse)

receded. Then I sat down at my computer and got this review for After I Do:

            “I have a bone to pick with that Vicky Gemmell – I was busy reading After I Do on the bus today and was so engrossed I missed my stop – not only did I miss it but I missed it big time and finished up in some place that I’ve never been to in my life before as I was on the circle bus and should have got off at CG to change to another bus to come to EP. Luckily I finished it when I did, otherwise God knows where I would have finished up […]! I flew off the bus in such a hurry I left my umbrella behind, had to cross the road the get the circle bus coming the other way to get back to CG as I didn’t trust myself to catch the right bus to get to work. As a result, I turned up at 10 am instead of the 8.30 am start that I had planned! All because of her book!”

As you can imagine, I’m embarking on the weekend, flying/walking on air/floating on champagne bubbles (pick your cliché).

What a week! What a wonderful week.

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Thinking of you

Me: Ok, I’m going to tell you my all-time best joke: what did the villagers call Postman Pat when he retired?

Family: What?

Me: Pat!

I collapsed laughing. My family regarded me stony-faced. They’d heard this one a thousand times. My older children (Clio, twelve and Rory, ten) got it, but it swooped way over four-year-old QueenBee’s head, then plummeted to the floor where it foundered, flapped and died a death that all such awful jokes deserve.

How is that even supposed to be funny? Rory asked.

The family was sitting around the supper table, swapping jokes in a very different atmosphere from that at a drunken dinner party where the quips become excessively crasser and funnier as wine bottle levels drop; my favourite jokey situation. (But children do not mix with either alcohol or crude jokes, or – most of the time – even funny jokes.)

Despite tonight’s sobriety and very unfunny jokes, I was surprised and delighted, as I am increasingly of late, to realise how much I was enjoying my children’s company. The older two have lost the demanding, whiny, all consuming ego-centricity of very small children, and are actually quite entertaining pre-adolescents. Their maturity (sometimes) sets a tone that QueenBee, being outnumbered, has to follow.

One of my girlfriends, who also happens to be one of my favourite people in the world, has a two-year-old who is sick. The toddler has had a raging fever for over a week and my friend has had to battle illness, accompanied by sleeplessness and low blood sugar. I cannot imagine her exhaustion. Well, actually I can. I’ve been there. I’ve done that. Got the T-shirt and it sucks. So this is for you, love. Read it and know that these days end. One day, you will look at your maturing child – one who got her own breakfast this morning so that you could have a lie-in; one who’s going to empty the dishwasher for you later – and laugh at the fact that she doesn’t find your jokes funny. In the meantime, hang in there. Give your little one lots of liquids, love and infant paracetamol and know that I’m thinking of you.

Vxx

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A career in sales

My son has recently launched his fundraising career, door-to-door selling mangos. On no planet would I send my 10-nearly-11-year-old out on such a mission alone, so I armed him with a pen and paper, frog marched him around the neighbourhood, and lurked behind people’s postboxes while he went a-knocking. 

Every time a door opened, he’d brace himself, slap on a smile, and start his spiel. Most often, the door would close, his shoulders would drop, and he would slump back down the drive where I’d be waiting with all the sales wisdom I (not a sales bone in my body) could muster:

Gotta kiss a lot of frogs before you get a prince! (Mu-um, I’m not gay!)

For every ten pitches, you’ll be lucky to get one sale! (Can we go home now?)

It didn’t help that he didn’t actually have any mangos to hand over. He had to convince people to cough up the cash in advance, to a 10-nearly-11-year-old stranger, promising delivery within a week.

My brilliant little man sold $175’s worth in one afternoon, and we staggered home to congratulate ourselves.

The story does not end there. (Well, actually, for one of his clients it does. See later.)

Our mango supplier let us down. It’s a long tale, and, as a typical cheque’s-in-the-mail one, not very interesting. The point is we’ve kept our faithful buyers on tenterhooks, salivating for their mangoes, for over three weeks. 

Yesterday, a call came through from one of the buyer’s daughter, saying her mother has died in the interim, and so not to deliver to her when they do come.

Typically, my son’s response to this news was, ‘Meh.’

I, on the other hand, do not think I have emotional stamina enough for a sales career.

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Welcome with air kisses on both cheeks!

Sunday morning and the Salvos have been up and down the street with their brass band: Christmas must be coming.

It’s been a busy day and it’s not even half over. I woke up and published my novel on Amazon Kindle. Please read it! I began it during my pregnancy with the QueenBee around five years ago, when we were living in the UK. It was interrupted by childbirth, quickly followed by a transcontinental shift. (Both processes aged me about 600 years, or so it feels!) I finished the novel a couple of years ago, and then spent forever editing it. When that was all done, I forgot all about it. Three children, a house to run, a wannabe full time writing career and life in general got in the way. And truth to tell, I was nervous my readers wouldn’t love it. My Super Supportive Spouse (SSS) has convinced me to make good the time investment, and I uploaded After I Do this morning. Let me know what you think of it.

Vxx

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